


Do Clothes Make The Man?

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Chained up, M/M, Massage, Whipping, ass fucking, ass raped, cock sucked, fingers in ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Who is Sherlock? Suit or punk? What clothes do make the man?





	Do Clothes Make The Man?

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  This is a picture of Benedict Cumberbatch from the 2017 Interview Magazine. Thought it would be a great prompt for a story.
> 
> * * *

Mike and I have decided to go to a funky pub this night. None of the upper-class ones we usually visit.  
Walking into the HoundDog, we're hit with the smell first. Sweat, cheap beer and what could be unwashed socks. The noise surrounds you. Lots of people, all trying to talk at once.  
Two televisions playing different sports events, glasses banging on wood, and somewhere there's hip-hop music in the background.

          "And why did we come here,"I ask my companion, shouting into his ear. 

          "Atmosphere and something new," he likewise has to shout back.  
Shoving our way to the bar we order two beers from the t-shirted, pot-bellied, long-bearded bartender.

* * *

Hard to see, hard to talk we scan the crowd.  
It's a Saturday night, all the hardworking men and women have stepped out for the night's enjoyment.  
My eye catches an engaging man, and I poke Mike in the side.

          "Wow! Dig him!" pointing down about two men away from us.  
Lounging with elbows on the wood bar, legs lazily spread, is a tall, lanky man facing the crowd.  
Floppy hair over his forehead, sharp cheekbones. Shirt rolled up at the sleeves, white undershirt peeking out and at his opened shirt buttons. Tight shirt from what I can see. A belt with chains hanging from it, and then those jeans. Skintight, and black cowboy boots. As a matter of fact, besides the white undershirt, everything is black. 

          "Might be a bit young, don't you think?" Mike asks. 

          "Of age to be in here and drinking. But yea," as I turn away, "too young." 

"Out trolling tonight, John?"

          "Not in this place. I like them more high end, you know that."

All this time we've been almost in each other's ears to talk.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch this youngster, my interest peaked. The gent in question stands straight, stretches, and tries to get the bartender's attention.  
I lean over to the barkeeper and put some money in his hand.

          "For the kid over there, on me. Tell him no strings attached." When he does, the kid takes the money and shoves it back, sneers at me and walks away. 

          "Wow! You got dumped!"Mike grins. We stay a while longer, it's refreshing to watch how people act in dumps like this, but there's nothing here for us.  
We begin to make our way out when I spot the kid again. On closer look, he is much older than I first thought. But still young. 

          "I don't think that was a hot idea."

          "Ah well, we tried, Mike. Interested in anyplace else?"

          "Nah, let's go home," shrugging, "you know it's a good thing we're not a thing together. Just occasional fucking. Leaves us room to play." 

          " Yea. But tonight the only thing that caught me was the kid." At which point Mike laughs, and we catch a cab. 

* * *

Mike and I have been sharing a flat for three years now. It's an easygoing relationship. We, at first, were boyfriends, then discovered we were better as friends with occasional sex thrown in.

* * *

For the last few days I keep thinking about the kid, as I've come to call him.  
Heck, a trip back to the HoundDog is a good thought. Well, for me it is. Don't know why though. Yeah, I do. The thought of that body under me, yum!

* * *

I don't want to let on to Mike that it's my intention. He'd laugh, call me some names I don't want to think about.

* * *

I need to find a reasonable justification to leave the flat tonight, and Mike texts me that he's going with some guys to a movie. And it's one I don't want to see. My excuse has been taken care of!

* * *

Do I think he's going to be there at the pub? Just waiting for me? Nah! But, I have to go.  


I have one pair of black jeans, that, although not as tight as the kids it's a quite snug fitting. A dark green shirt tops it.

* * *

Walking in I take a casual stroll around, not seeing him at all. But, I head to the bar and order a beer.  
I missed him because there he is at the very far end.

Almost in the same pose, wearing the same tight jeans, but only a white undershirt that shows every ripple of his body.  
Without thinking I sidle over, and place some coin on the wood next to him.  
He glances down, then up at me, scorn is written all over him, but a glimpse of excitement also.

* * *

          "You want a quick blowjob it'll cost more than that."  
His baritone voice can be heard easily over the cacophony that is around us.

          "Just offering a beer and some talk."  
He turns around, fingers out beckoning to the bartender and asks for a beer.

          "What's the gimmick for you? Want my body, don't you? Everyone does."

          "You're assuming lots. But, to be honest," my eyes running hungrily up and down him, he chuckles, as I continue my examination of him,"Yeah, you look mighty good. Might want that."

          "Cost you. Lots more than a beer, old man," looking at my body.  
I'm still in pretty good shape with a small belly beginning to form. My hair has thinned somewhat. And, of course, there are age lines on my face now. 

I'm getting horny, thoughts of him naked drives my cock up into my already tight jeans.

          "What's the price for a night with you?" Understanding that he's a hustler, and even at his age, good at it. His eyes widen, and his lips smack together. 

          "If you show me you're clean, two hundred pounds. No ass fucking. And you pay for the hotel."  
Sucking in a breath, and thinking that's lots of money for someone I've met in a joint like this. And no guarantees he even knows what he's doing. But, and a big but, I want this man. And now, if possible. 

          "If we're both clean it's a deal."  
Producing papers, which in his case, may not be legit, I decide to go for it.

* * *

He takes me outside and, he knows a hotel, of course. It looks clean and as we ride the elevator up, he grabs my crotch.

          "No," taking his hand off," this is my money, my lead."

* * *

And what a night! He's quite randy, uninhibited. Willing to let me have my way in all. I find it hard to keep up with him. But, what a night!

* * *

I had given him half the money while in the room with the promise of the other half in the morning. And I left my wallet with the desk clerk, who smirked knowingly.  
He was still in my bed in the early light.

          "For another two I'll stay until the afternoon."

Hearing him talk in the quiet of the room, I understand that he's an educated man, posh talk from him. Bet it's cocaine that's dragged him down to this level.

          "No, but if I want you again how will I reach you?"

          "I'll be around," dressing and taking the other half of the money that I picked up from the clerk very early this morning, he departs.

* * *

Mike would kill me if he knew. I usually stick to call guys or ones found at swanky hotel bars. Never these cheap druggies or alcoholics.  
But, it worked out and I am exhausted, my body stiff in every direction from movements I didn't know I still had in me.

* * *

Mike and I are slated to go to a concert tonight to hear Andrea Bocelli perform.  
Usually classical is not our style but he does a little of everything and we both love his voice.

* * *

Dressed in suits and tie as befits this occasion we are in the hallway awaiting entrance to the theatre itself.  
I'm watching the crowd, the women all gussied up, jewelry on display when, appearing almost in front of me is-the kid-I think.  
Maybe?  
If it's him he's absolutely gorgeous in a black suit, purple silk shirt, black tie. And his hair is, still curly but battened down with a product. He's with an older gent in a grey three-piece suit.

I nudge Mike,"is that the same kid from the sleazy bar? Is it possible?"  
Mike peers over to where I'm discreetly pointing.

His head jerks back, eyes widen, and he nods a yes.

          "And if my sense of dress proves me right, both he and the gentleman he's with are in hand-made suits. So, does that mean he's being kept by the older guy?" Mike replies with a sardonic grin.

          "If so, Mike, why would he be in that pub? And fucking for money?"

Whoops! Did I just let the cat out of the bag!

Mike takes no notice of what I said and I breathe a sigh. Thank goodness! Did not want to explain myself.

          "Intriguing," he says as his hand curves his jaw as if he's got an imaginary beard.

          "Let's see what we can find out," wheeling around to one of the ladies next to him, "excuse me, can you tell me who those two gentlemen are over there? I may have met the older one and I'm mortified not to remember his name."

The white-haired lady gives Mike a big smile, "why that's the Holmes brothers. The older one is Mycroft and the other is Sherlock. Mycroft is a high-level government something or other. That's all I know."

Bowing slightly, "thank you, ma'am. That was most helpful."

          "Looks like you were dead wrong. About his being kept. The puzzle is why is he hanging in that pub and what for?" 

          "Maybe his brother doesn't know about his shenanigans."

          "Either way, it's not our business."

* * *

The theatre doors open and we're shown to our seats.  
Looking around I see the brothers enter one of the boxes. Figures! There's definite money in that family.

* * *

During intermission, Mike gets up to go to the bathroom and I stand in the aisle, stretching, trying not to look directly at the younger brother Sherlock.

          "John, John, how nice to see you here."  
I'm being punched lightly on the shoulder by a heavy-set bald man. He owns the lab where I send my blood work over to be diagnosed.  
I'm a doctor at a clinic in town and they are my primary testing lab. 

          "Hi Bill, good to see you also."  


          "Hey if you're not doing anything after the show why not follow me and the wife over to my house. We're having an informal get together and you'll know most of the people. They're mostly all from the labs."

          "I have Mike with me and I'll have to ask him if that's okay with you?" 

          "Yep, no problem. Meet us outside after this is over."  
When Mike settles into his seat and I tell him he readily agrees.

* * *

Outside Bill hands me his card with his address and phone number. Mike and I hop into a taxi and head out to their house. It's in the suburbs of London. A two-story, columned house, with a small garden in front.

* * *

Upon entering there's a crowd of at least twenty people there and yes, I do recognize most of them. Mike Is an outgoing person and it's easy for him to mingle with the crowd.

All of a sudden he's by my side, tugging my sleeve. I've been chatting with a young woman, a pathologist," John, have to talk to you," excusing myself and letting Mike manhandle me away.

          "Look who's here," his head jerking to one side.

There they are. The two brothers, working their way through the crowd.  
Shit! What do I do!

          "I doubt whether he'll recognize us, but let's not let on that we know him. His brother might not know about his little forays."

What Mike doesn't know is that Sherlock should definitely know me.

Bill has walked up to both of us and taking me by the arm, quietly says," Come, I want you to meet someone very important. Travels in high circles. Come on, you also Mike. After all, you are a partner in the lab with John."

* * *

And dragging us over to the brothers he introduces us.  
Mycroft is emotionless as he bows slightly to both of us, but Sherlock takes my hand in both of his, holding it longer than would be considered a polite handshake.  


          " John, how nice to meet someone willing to do good works for his community. I imagine you find yourself in all kinds of situations. Some that might need your own brand of attention."  
The fucking twit recognizes me and is playing me.

          " John does many house calls, which by today's standards is highly unusual," Mike says, leaving me to watch the fun Sherlock is having on my account. 

          "Highly unusual it is," his eyes agleam with deviltry, his lips parting slightly and his tongue licking them. Mike is glancing sideways at us both. Wondering. 

          "Doctor Watson and Doctor Stamford, I'm giving a little social next Tuesday. I'd love you to join us. It will only be for after dinner cocktails but there will be some persons of interest that might enjoy hearing more about your little clinic," as Mycroft hands Mike his card, Sherlock nods and also says,"yes would love to see you again," and they both walk away. 

          "Now what the hell, heck, was that about?"

          "Don't know, Mike, but it sounds like a good opportunity for us. We'll discuss it later. At home," taking the moment to walk away, leaving Mike to his own devices, while I try to avoid the brothers, Sherlock especially.  
As luck would have it I turn my back to the room and hear a voice next to me,"for two hundred I'd suck your dick tonight," in a barely heard whisper. 

          "Damn you, cut it out!"

Turning to face him," that happened that once, and besides, I have the feeling that good old bro there won't like it one bit if he finds out what you do in your spare time."

          "Ah, we're even then, because I doubt your boyfriend would like it one bit if he knew what you do in your spare time." I don't find this at all funny. 

          "Even score Sherlock. Now let's be friends and forget that night."  
He deep bows to me and I wander off, faintly relieved. But I think this is only the beginning of my repartee with that man.

* * *

Not wanting to go to the brother's house, especially if Sherlock will be there I try to back out. But Mike sees the opportunity in meeting these people and finally, with persuasion I consent.  
And yes, there he is, as we enter the house, dressed in a navy blue suit, fitting tight enough to show off all attributes. 

Mycroft begins the introductions, taking Mike by the arm and dragging him, with me in tow to each person.  
Sherlock has seen me, turning his back to talk to a young lady who I estimate is in her twenties.  
During the evening I find myself alone with this same woman, Charlotte Corning by name, standing off to one side of the room, cocktails in hand.

          " John Watson, what an interesting person you are. I took the time to research you and your little clinic."  


          "And to what purpose?"

She's petite, blonde and very slim, almost to the point of skinny. Wearing a silk flowered long-sleeved shirt and white palazzo pants.

          "Oh, curiosity. I always take an interest in what the boys are doing. And you've come to my attention."  


Looking up at me with hooded eyes, there's more to this young lady, more than I can imagine.

          "You'd better watch out for Sherlock. Yes, I see him eyeing you. You could be his next victim."  


          "What do you mean, victim?"  


          "Sherlock gets bored easily. He's a Mensa genius. Mycroft has never been able to control him. That's why he lives here. So Mycroft can keep an eye on him, or so he tries. Sherlock picks his pawn and then devours him. When he's tired of that game he goes to another. A couple of days, a couple of weeks and he's done with them. Mostly men."  


          "So you think I'm next on the list? Even though I'm not gay?"

That's not true but most people don't know that Mike and I were lovers. We kept it very quiet.

          "It doesn't matter to him. Gay or not gay. Watch out!" and with a wave of her hand, she saunters away, or sashaying would be the better way of putting it.

* * *

Sorry, Charlotte, but you've only intrigued me more. Must know more about that genius. I love challenges, that's what a doctor thrives on, or at least I do.  
Advancing on my quarry I tap him on the shoulder and he turns.

          "Hi John, I'll be with you in a moment," turning back to the man he is conversing with. I move away, only to find Mike at my side. 

          "I think we have someone willing to donate some funds to the clinic and a woman who wants to run a bake sale for us. How about you?"  
I haven't been paying attention to this aspect, but instead tell Mike" yeah, I might have someone also."  
Seeing Sherlock advancing on us, "Mike, I want to ask Mister Holmes about helping out also. I'll be right back," and walk to Sherlock before he gets to Mike and me. 

          "How about a dinner night out?" 

          "How common! How boring! Dancing would be good." 

          "Dancing? Where could we-?" 

          "Leave that to me. Wear something provocative, and I'll pick you up in a taxi tomorrow night at nine," and off he goes to find another pawn.

* * *

My heart is beating faster, and my thoughts run riot.  
Well, John Watson, you're in for a hell of a ride! And not in a taxi!

* * *

I put on the tight jeans and a shirt that now pulls on my chest. Haven't worn it in years but kept it because it's a beautiful dark blue and compliments my blue eyes. Hoping to lose some weight on my belly but never have.  
No underwear at all.  
Don't know what to expect, but climbing into the taxi I look the kid over. He's in the same outfit only this time he's wearing bracelets with spikes on them and two heavy silver chains around his neck.

          "You look so different-," his mouth covering mine before I can finish my sentence.  


          "Tonight, since you're not paying me, I call the shots. I run the show", that baritone sound, shivers run through me. I'm not sure I want to continue. I can always back out.  
I won't.

* * *

We're walking into a pub, loud rock music, dark lighting consists of purple and pink rotating spotlights. Hard to see anything clearly but it's a gay establishment.

Sherlock leads me to the bar which is situated at the side of the room.  


I order a beer but he declines. After taking a swig, he ushers me onto the tiny dance floor. If you could call standing tightly against each other and rocking, dancing.  


          "Open your zipper, but leave yourself buttoned. No questions asked."  
My legs stop, I stare at him, and comply, my hand quivering.  
His leg between mine he presses in, rocking to a beat he only knows.

          "You keep that up I'll-, his thigh moves against my bulge, leaning against him as my orgasm takes hold, my sounds obscured by the din surrounding us. 

          "Damn you, " I say, my mouth muffled by his shirt. 

          "Good, let's get you a drink." 

          "I'm soaked."  
He can't hear me with the noise, and at the bar, he orders a beer for me, takes a sip first and then hands it directly to me.

* * *

I begin to feel off balance, punch drunk. How can that be? I only had the one beer. Suspicion dawns on me.

          " Sherlock, what, -"

          " Follow me", he yells to be heard, and we push through the crowd to the back to a set of steps. Sherlock has to hold me, my legs unsteady.

As we ascend the stairs he says, " I slipped something in your drink. It'll wear off in an hour. Long enough to get you set up"

          "Huh, what are you talking about?" holding onto him for dear life. Afraid of falling down. 

Into a room where there's only a bed and table and a standing floor lamp.  
A window covered in a filthy yellowish cloth.  
On the table sits a black leather doctor-size bag. He pushes me down onto the bed lifting my legs to straighten me out. I can't do anything, just flop about. The room swims, turns. Dizzy.  
My vision unclear, watching, I see him pick up a bag pulling out chains, clinking against each link and cuffs, black .  
I try to sit up, can't get my bearings, and down again. 

          "Relax now."

The leather cuffs are on my wrists and ankles, chains rasping through links and onto metal rings on the four bedposts.  


          "No, no," my voice sounding hoarse and low. I can't fight him, my body feels like jelly.

Sitting astride me, his hands holding onto each side of my face, bending close, " John, I know you can't focus well, but now it's my turn to take control.  
The effects of the drug will be wearing off soon." 

Chained so that my arms and legs are in a vee formation, each spread wide.  
My head turns away from him, now scared. I don't know who Sherlock really is. What kind of maniac is he?

Still astride me he unbuttons my shirt, licking on my neck, my ears, my cheeks and lips and everything seems to be in slow motion.

          "Hmm, you're so good. I'll be easy on you, to start with," tonguing my lips and opening my mouth, finding my teeth, my tongue.

He shifts off me, standing up, removing his shirt over his head and throws it casually on the ground.

I'm beginning to come back to myself, the spinning of the room has stopped.

          "God damn you, get me out of this," tugging on the cuffs, pulling the chains. 

          "If you continue you're only going to hurt yourself," his tone so soft, so light.  
Again mounting me, on his knees, his hands run down my chest, and lowering himself he catches my nipples between his teeth, his tongue passing over, lapping at the red nibs. 

          "Feel free to cry out. The owner doesn't care what happens as long as there are no dead bodies," brushing his tongue over the hair on my chest.  


          "Oh, damn," twisting slightly with the feel of him. My breathing ragged as that tongue laps down the hair trail to the belt of my trousers. The depths of my belly button plunged and wet, and the gasp of pleasure and a slight giggle is part of my outburst.  
Sherlock makes a swift descend of my zipper and pulls my jeans down to my knees. 

          "Ah, the beauty of a fully loaded cock. And even better that it's cut." Erect and waiting for him, my cock quivers, the cool air making me shiver with desire and anxiety. 

          "The only talking I want you to do is dirty, slutty."  


          "Then suck my cock, you dickhead," a tiny hiccup of a laugh, a heaving breath, waiting.  


          " Don't tell me what to do. This is my time," a finger barely touching the tip of my swollen cock.  


Stepping off me, "I'm going to redo the chains and you are not to fight me. If you do it will only be the worse for you."  
He removes one of them on my wrist to the other ring so both are together, giving him leeway to turn me over. My arms over my head again.  
I try hard to maintain calm, but when he undoes both leg chains I buck and start to kick him, strongly, pushing him off me.

          "I told you not to resist me," pulling my pants off me, his open hand slapping my ass, stinging it. 

          " You picked me up in a sleazy establishment, let me take you to an unknown hotel and paid me to screw you. You had no idea who or what I was. Gave no thought to your own safety. So, John Watson, who is Sherlock Holmes? Am I a caring, loving man or a sadist?"

Tossing me like a bag of potatoes I'm on my stomach, the leg chains are set so again I'm spread-eagled.  
I can see him opening the leather bag, removing a whip with leather tails and metal tips, giving a few solid slashes in the air with it. The crack gives me chills.

          "No, you can't," my whole body trying to rise up, anger swelling in me. The cuffs abrasive on my wrists, hoping to dislodge one of them. Nothing works.  
I'm at his mercy, and my blood curdles.  
My face is turned away from him, eyes closed, body stiff with apprehension. 

          "I can do anything I want. You're mine now. Scream. It won't matter," his laugh petrifies me and I yell for help. My head turns from side to side and I see beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip.  
My body sinks back into the bed, eyes shutting, biting my lip. 

          "Ahh, fuuccck," the whip hits my backside. With enough force to feel the burn of the tails, the sting of the metal on my skin. Bouncing with the need to escape. 

          "What are you feeling," Sherlock asks, the whip going down on me again, my torso, my legs shivering. 

          "I feel like killing you,"through gritted teeth, my head rising up, face turned, trying to meet his eyes. 

          " No," again the lash on my ass," what are the sensations?" 

          "Damn you to fucking hell, it hurts, it's ohh," the bite of the whip, tears forming on my cheeks, "please stop," I beg.

This time the lashes come more frequently, hard, and I feel liquid on my backside and realize it's my blood.

Horrified at the extent to which he can go, I scream out and in my fright, I let go. I pee.  
My face in the pillow, biting the fabric. The sheet under me soaked with my fear.  
Stopping, I hear the whip hit the floor, the click of a cap opening and a soothing liquid is applied to my sore ass, fingers surprisingly soft.

The sounds of our breathing. Both sharp, elevated.  
The massage of his hands on my rear end, cooling liquid, soft touching.

My eyes are closed, and I hear him into the bag again.

          "Ahhhh, fuck," my body squirming. Something very sharp is scraping on my arms.  
Changing the leg chains, and rolling me over onto my back, I see a metal comb in his hand.  
The teeth have sharp points to them. He rakes my chest, the points biting into my chest, my stomach. Red welts appear.  
My teeth bite into my bottom lip, sucking, breath in short bursts.

          "Hurts, doesn't it? I could cut you to ribbons with this instrument," through gritted teeth. 

          "Stop, stop, pleeeaassse,"sobbing, bouncing in my need to get away from the cutting spikes. He stops, the click of the tube opening, he applies the liquid to my stomach and chest, cooling it. 

          "John, have you ever been ass fucked?" 

          "Not for you to know," licking my dry lips. My body wracked with this sick torture. 

          "I bet that boyfriend of yours has had you, his cock sucked into your ass hole, balls bouncing against you," in that soft, deep voice that can disarm anyone. So quietly said. His face close to mine, into my ear,"what if I wanted you that way? Would you let me?" 

          "Do I have a choice? You piece of shit." I'm so worn from the pain that my voice carries no weight to it. 

          " No, but it's fun asking," snickering. 

Back on my stomach, the bruises grate against the sheet, wrinkled, wet with sweat and blood.  
There's no way to alleviate the pain, any movement, and part of me that touches something sears into my brain.  
I feel his hands on my ass, spreading them apart, and a finger rounding my hole, agitating it, teasing.

          "Such a pretty hole it is," this time I hear his breath suck in, massaging the tiny pleasure bud, he's gasping.

          "Stop this, stop, fucking- damn- you- to- hell," each word a breath escaping me. A finger probes, I writhe. Out it comes and further in as I shutter, my hips leap up, return to the wetness of the bed.

          "More?" he utters. 

          "Whatever you want. I can't stop you," my breath hitching, surrendering to his demands.  
Another finger snaking in, and another, my hissing and groaning heard.  
Fingers out, I moan,"Nooo," don't care, don't know anymore. Want this to brought to an end.  
The chains on my legs are off, he turns me on my back. He gets up and removes his trousers, and I can hear him heavily lubing his cock, on the bed again, and my legs splayed out. I can't get up the strength to fight, to even try to inflict pain on him.  
His cock lines with my ass hole and the tip moves in.  
I've only been ass fucked twice and I don't like it. Nothing I can do here though.  
His pulsing is felt by me and he pumps his come, while I let out screeches of pain.  
Sherlock comes out and collapses next to me.

* * *

          "Undo me so I can fucking punch you out, you madman," anger, disgust, washing over me.

          "Oh no, we're not done. We're going to rest, and you're going down on me and giving me the best blowjob you've ever given." 

          "Sherlock, this is enough, please. I can't" and I'm sobbing, stupidly trying to get out of the cuffs at my wrists. My body, my mind is exhausted, and even in all the sweat and pee I fall into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Sherlock wakes me, with the words,"time to suck me, I'm hard."

          "I won't do it," biting my lips.  
Sitting up he mounts me at my shoulders, his glans sitting on my lips. 

          "Take it in," one hand on his cock and the other has his fingers prying open my lips.  
I open, his shaft is down my mouth, and he rides me. Gagging, I can feel his balls hitting me, and that gags me more, the smell of soap and his body odor overwhelming me. 

          "Soon, soon," shoving in and out.  
His cock surges, throbs, quivers and the liquid pours out, with me retching, gasping, as it flows out of my mouth and down my cheeks.  
He withdraws and lies down, letting his breath and body steady itself.

* * *

          "There's no bathroom in here. It's down the hall. I'll get something to wash you up." When he comes back, he has a cloth and a glass of water.  
Taking off the chains and cuffs, handing me the glass I throw it hard at his chest. It bounces off with the water spraying all over. I sit up, try to stand but my legs wobble, and I fall back. 

          "I fucking hate you,"my whole being shaking. 

          "I'll leave you now but hear this from me. I'm sorry about the last part, shoving my cock down your throat. But, the rest, I'm not," getting his trousers and shoes on. 

          "I think, once you've had some time you'll understand why I took you as I did." 

          "You contemptuous, egotistical, high-and-mighty bastard! Get out of my sight!" throwing my shoe and hitting him in the arm. He walks out and leaves me to sit as best as I can to get enough strength to dress and go down the steps. There isn't a single part of my body that doesn't cry out, ache. The door to the pub is locked, but there is a door at the other end of the hall which leads out the back alley. The sun is beginning to break over the horizon. I'm sick, sticky and brain tired.

* * *

Can't go home looking like this, so I hail a taxi and go to the closed clinic to clean up.  
A long shower, hot, scrubbing off the stink, scrubbing off the touch of him. Long, heaving sobs take over. Bending me over and down to my knees. 

Out of the stall, I find two Xanax and down them.  
There's always a change of clothing in my closet and thank goodness for long sleeves. Hides the abrasions on my wrists. I sit, with a pillow under me, to wait for the time to open the doors. No sense in going home. I am determined to continue my day as if nothing had taken place the night before.

* * *

I hear the door unlocking and before Mike comes into the office I drop the pillow under the desk and stand. He's surprised to find me and looks fixedly at me.

          "I normally wouldn't ask, but you didn't come home last night. Where were you, and you look like shit? No, you look like someone ran over you."  
My head down, "I can't talk about it right now."  
He shakes his head,"I told you that someday you're going to get screwed fooling around the way you do." 

          "Are you okay, really, and is there anything I can do?" 

          "No. I need to rest that's all", finally coming to the conclusion that I can't stand up, let alone see patients.  
Moving closer to me, peering deeply,"why don't you go home? I can handle it here today. And, if you want to tell me about it later I'm open. I won't judge you."

A sigh of relief, "Yea, I think I'll go home. Thanks for everything," around the desk, giving him a peck on the cheek I leave for home. I need another shower and a clean bed.

* * *

My body hurts, my mouth is sore and my ass, well, can't even think about all of this right now.  
Why did Sherlock do what he did? Why does he even imagine I'd go near him again?

* * *

It's good that Mike and I have not slept in the same bed anymore. It leaves me room to heal without his noticing too much. Although to be truthful he knows me too well. Knows that I've been hurt by the way I move. But, he's polite enough to wait for me to discuss it with him.  
When he does ask, days later all I say is I did have rough sex, and yes it taught me a lesson.  
The specter of Sherlock is with me consistently. Not only in my aching body but my head.  
On the one hand, I'm afraid to see him. Afraid I'd kill him with my bare hands. But, I have to know what his motive was. 

How to understand the dualism with the man in the tailored suit and the man in the punk outfit? What made him?

Weeks go by and I give in to the temptation. I have to see Sherlock. Knocking on the door to the brother's house, the butler answers and Mycroft is putting on his coat.

          "Ah John Watson, Sherlock is in the library. I'll be away for two days. Enjoy, but be careful," moving out the door.  
What the hell did he mean by that?

* * *

The butler leads me to the library, and upon seeing me Sherlock, sitting in his chair, tilts his head back, hands behind his head, feet crossed, "I knew you'd be back."

          "Self-centered, fucking bastard, cock-ah what's the use!" throwing my hands in the air. Up to the desk where he's sitting, I lean and with my fingers tapping a beat,"Why? Why did you do this?" every ounce of me wants to take everything on the desk and heave it at him.  
I can't look him in the face. Controlling my temper I walk over to the large window next to the desk and look out onto a colorful garden. Have to keep composed. 

          "You were too cock-sure of yourself. You found me in an undesirable environment, not knowing my background. Assumed I'd behave myself." 

          "But I was paying for it and what I desired you were supposed to give me,"continuing my stare out the window. 

          "Exactly. But, how did you know I'd comply with that? I could have robbed you, beaten you to a pulp. You didn't know. When I saw you back to the pub, dressed and ready for action I had to show you what could happen to you if you persevere, in particular with a stranger." 

          "You do it all the time from what I gather, lots of times. And you're still here, alive." 

          "Oh John. you sound like a petulant child!"  


          "Yes, I do it. And it's almost been my downfall a few times. But, having money helps and a brother like Mycroft." Sighing, standing up, he moves over to me, his hands on my shoulders, shrugging them off me. 

          "Don't you touch me! If I turn around I'll-". 

          "John, if I was anyone else I could have kept you there for days, injuring you badly. The owner doesn't care. He's been shut down and reopened many times. As long as the money flows in it's not his business what transpires in those rooms." Hands back on my shoulders he leans into me, "Don't you see? I was teaching you a lesson. You could have been maimed. If I had only warned you then you wouldn't have believed me." 

          "You and your lesson," harumphing, trying my best to keep my eyes off him even in the reflection, to not be distracted by his closeness. He's moved off from me, but I refuse to turn around. 

          "You enjoyed it didn't you? You fuck?"

Taking a breath and a bold laugh, "Yes, most of it. Giving hard sex is euphoric for me. I've only had one other chance at it.  


          "Shit, never met anyone like you," a sort of laugh and giggle. 

          "And you never will,"moving close to me again, laughing into my neck. 

          "Piece of smart-ass shit. Conceited suck," my laughter joining his. 

          "John, domination can be enjoyable. Would you like to-" Turning quickly,"No, damn it, no!" pushing him away, I round on him. 

          "You toy with people. With their emotions. Taking what you want and leaving when bored."  
Banging the sofa next to me, "God damn you! I thought--", and I leave, leave him standing there, leave the house.

* * *

With donations coming in, Mike and I have to hire more staff and that leaves little time for frivolities.  
Unfortunately, we have to attend another of these thank you parties and I know the Holmes brothers will be there.

* * *

Looking in the mirror as I'm trying to get my tie straight I ask myself the question niggling at me for weeks.

          'John Watson, are you taken with this youngster you hardly know?'  
Deep, deep breath and I know the answer. He fires me up. Gets my juices running. 

* * *

The party is nothing different from all the others. Lots of food, drinking, and mingling.  
We invited two of my nurses to join us. Molly Hooper and Sarah Sawyer.  
I roam around, chatting with the different guests and meet up with Charlotte.

          "Good to see you again, Doctor Watson. And how are you?" 

          "I'm fine. Would you like some more wine? I see you're empty," pointing at her glass. 

          "I'm good, thanks. So tell me, did the great Sherlock, who by the way, is keeping a close eye on you right now, did he--?" 

          "If you are asking if he tried to, then yes, he did, and I rejected him. I'm not that kind."

She throws her head back, with a sharp intake of breath," don't even go there. It's clear as a bell, if you look close enough, that you and Mike are-" and one eyebrow goes up, a teasing smile," how shall I phrase it? Close?" and with that, she saunters away. Leaving me staring down at my empty glass.

          "A good fuck is waiting for you," my jumping in surprise. Didn't see him come upon me. 

          "Get the hell away," I growl. Not too loud. 

          "Oh come on, John. I'm fooling. Can't we be friends?" 

          "Why? So you can beat me up again? Humiliate me?"

* * *

I can't see him, my back towards him, but I can tell when he walks away.  
Damn! Why did I react that way? I wanted to--what? What John? I don't know, I just don't know.

* * *

It's been months since I've heard or seen the Holmes brothers. But each month there's a sizable check coming to us, signed by Mycroft.  
What is his motive? Mike thinks he's being philanthropic. But I sense something else behind this.  
Deciding to take the bull by the horns I call Mycroft, get his secretary and arrange a meeting at his office.

* * *

          "Have a seat, Doctor Watson." It takes me a moment to get myself under control. These Holmes brothers always seem to unnerve me.

* * *

This office is wealth personified. From the overly large walnut desk to the leather sofa, chairs, and a wood-lit fireplace. Books lining the walls. A sideboard with decanters filled.  
Mycroft waits, his eyes taking in my every movement, every thought.

          " Mister Holmes, I'll get right to it. Don't want to waste too much of your time. I thank you for the contributions, but--there's an underlying reason isn't there?' 

          "I knew you would reach that conclusion. Yes, I have a motive. But even if you decline I'll still continue with my offering."  
Sitting back in his seat, looking directly at me, no faltering in his gaze. 

          "You were with my brother on two occasions weren't you?"  
I sit up straight, almost ready to deny, when his hand comes out, in a waving motion. 

          "Please don't. I keep a close watch on him at all times. He has a tendency to--go to extremes."  
I chuckle deep in my throat. 

          "The last time was one of those extremes wasn't it?"  
I can only nod, wondering just how much this man knew. I'm very flustered and feel the slight flush on my cheeks.

Continuing, sitting up and leaning his elbows on the desk, his hands folded.

          "Instead of ignoring him you came to the house and confronted him. I frankly was surprised. No one confronts my sibling. But you did."  
My exasperated sigh escapes my lips. 

          "I couldn't let the fuck-er- I mean the kid get away with it without an explanation." 

          "And was that-explanation- satisfying to you?" his eyebrows up. 

          "Yes," and rising from the seat," Look Mister Holmes, I did not come here to be interrogated. What happened between Sherlock and me is not a matter for discussion." 

          "Sit down, John," his voice both kindly and stern. I back down into the chair.

          "I don't care what ensued. What I care about is the change in Sherlock and some insight into why." 

          "What change?" surprised by this announcement. 

          "Sherlock has never returned to his former self. That getup that he loved sits in his closet. Unused. No clubbing. No one nighters." I stare at him, my hand over my mouth in absolute disbelief.

Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped on his chest, "John Watson. I don't know nor do I care to know what ensued between you. But- I have you to thank. And- I have a request.  


          "You can refuse, as I said earlier."  
Standing up, "I'd appreciate it if you initiate your relationship with him again."

          "To what degree means 'relationship'?" air quoting. 

          "Whatever you wish it to be?" a smirk going over his face. I understand this is the end of our meeting and rise up.  


          "I'll give it some thought. Thank you either way."  
I'm ushered out, grab a taxi, but have him pull over a few streets before the flat. I need some fresh air to think, clear my head, which right now, it's awash in jumbled thoughts. Taking my time I walk the rest of the way.

* * *

I don't have to try to find an excuse for a meeting. It happens quite by accident.

* * *

Around the corner from the clinic is a wonderful bakery, which, every once in awhile I indulge in my favorite treat. Donuts. Topped with chocolate, or strawberry icing.  
And it's in there that I meet Sherlock. Ordering pastries.

          "Well, hello there. I guess we both satisfying our need for sweets."  
Turning to look at me, with a smirk, "We've satisfied other needs. Why not this?" Choosing to ignore the dig, "How about we sit down together, here?" 

          "Doctor Watson, I have to refuse you. I have other--concerns at the moment."  


          "Sherlock let's start over," my voice barely heard, leaning into him.  


          "To what end?"  


          "Oh, I don't know. But can't we see what happens?"  


          "You are asking for trouble," and taking up the brown bag of goodies," but yes."  


          "My house at eight tonight," and before I can open my mouth further he's gone.

* * *

Not knowing the reception I'm going to get I waver back and forth while working. 

Still not completely trusting Mycroft's reasoning.

* * *

But, donning a blue striped shirt and khaki trousers, I find myself knocking at the door at eight.  
Surprised to see Sherlock open it, waving me in.

          "The sitting room is over here. I have a nice fire going and some tea and biscuits for us." He sounds too amiable. Too cheerful. 

          "Is Mycroft home?"  


          "Do we need a chaperone, John?" and there's that mocking tone I'm used to. Starting to sit on the sofa, I jump up and take one of the easy chairs by the fire. Sherlock snickers,"afraid of me?"  
I stand up, take a breath of annoyance," That's it. If it's going to be like this I'm leaving," heading for the sitting room door.  
Sherlock catches me by the arm, twisting me around and pulling me into his arms. Both arms up and pushing on his chest, head turned away from him,"No, don't want this. No sex."  


          "Isn't that why you're here? still trying to contain me in those arms.  
Finally able to get out, I stand, breath heavy,"No! No! I want to become friends."  
He laughs," John, we've had funky sex, seen each other nude. And all you want now is friendship? Can't believe that!" Anger boils up in me,"Yes, I want to get to know you. Not the sexual part. But what else you are made of. But if that doesn't interest you then goodbye." And, with him calling my name I walk out, out of the house and walk down the street to find a cab.

* * *

I'm bent out of shape. What did I expect from him?  
I'm done!

* * *

I'm at work the next day, a man walks into the reception area with a huge bouquet of roses.  


I can't believe my eyes! Almost know without looking who it's from. 

          "For a Doctor John Watson."  
I sign for it as the man says," Two dozen roses. She must want something."  
Mike has walked into the room, and his eyes bug out!

          "Wow! Who the heck from?"  


          _Still cleaning up my act. Forgive me. Try again?_

          "Who? Who?" as Mike leans over me to see the card. I sit on the edge of the desk and stare at the roses next to me in an elaborate ceramic blue and white vase. 

          "If you must know, it's the kid." Eyebrows up, mouth open,"Really? Thought that was done ages ago," pausing, waiting.  


          "No. And to answer your question, yes. I'm giving him another chance." I ring up Sherlock and ask him if he's interested in visiting the aquarium. There's a pause, then,"Yes, unconventional for me. But, I'm up for it." 

          " Meet me in the lobby tomorrow at one."

* * *

Another side of Sherlock. He's dressed in a dark navy suit, green silk shirt, open to show his chest. No tie.

          "Do you have anything other than suits or punk duds?" a smile to show I'm joking with him. Ignoring me we pay the entrance fee, grab a brochure with the map and walk in.

* * *

There are lots of school children around us, and we weave in and out of the groups.

* * *

I spot the seahorses, taking hold of Sherlock's arm we move in close. There are all different species, sizes, and colors in the tank.

          "Did you know, Sherlock, that seahorses mate for life and the male bears the young?" 

          "Are you interested in marine biology, John?" 

          "Oh a passing fancy of mine. I once went on a whale watching boat tour catching my interest enough to read up somewhat on it. And watch some tv shows."

* * *

We continue to wander, stopping to observe the various fish.

* * *

I'm getting a kick out of all the children, but I have the feeling Sherlock is annoyed. Their noise, their constant back and forth has him humming to himself. As if he wants to say something but knows it's not appropriate.

* * *

Until--one of the children, a girl, about seven, stumbles and falls, hitting her head hard on the ground, crying hard.  
Sherlock jumps to her, picking up her head as the teacher's steps in.

          "There, it's not bad. See the big shark over there?" pointing to the tank closest to us, trying to distract her. 

          "Did you know that he has to keep swimming when he's sleeping?" She stops crying and looks closely at the shark and then Sherlock. 

          "How does the shark rest? Mommy says everyone needs their rest." 

          "His heart slows down, but he has to move to keep breathing." I stand there amidst all the kids, teachers and the circle around Sherlock and the young child and watch his gentle side take over.  
He helps her up, and the teacher murmurs a thank you to him. 

          "What? Did you think I had no sensitivity at all?" 

          "Oh Sherlock," giving him a half hug, arm around his waist, enjoying this moment. 

          "Onwards then John," pushing me away. Do I detect a shyness? At the octopus tank, I ask the kid if he knows the story of the octopus and the laboratory. 

          "Sit here and let me tell you of it." Sitting down in front of the chamber housing the octopus I instinctively take hold of Sherlock's hand. 

          "A lab had recently received an octopus and placed it in one of the fish tanks.They had about a dozen tanks with fish in them. Different species.  
Each morning when the scientists walked in they found some of the fish missing. Couldn't figure it out until they set cameras up. To their surprise, the octopus was leaving the tank, crawling over to the fish tanks and eating. They experimented and put a cover on the tanks. The octopus found a way to push the covers away and get in.  
It's been found they are more intelligent than we thought and a force to be reckoned with." 

          "John Watson, you are a fountain of surprise!" his hand squeezing mine. It was so natural after that, to continue around the rooms to hold his hand.

* * *

          "How about dinner? Is that on your agenda?" 

          "I didn't give it a thought. To be honest, I wasn't sure you would be comfortable with all of this." 

          "You mean all I would want would be a sexual encounter. Sex, sex and more?' Blushing, I nod, now ashamed thinking that. 

          "Come on, dinner on me."

* * *

It was a pleasant time.  
A Chinese restaurant, a booth in the back, prattling on about anything that came to mind.

* * *

I didn't think twice when Sherlock asked about going back to his house.

* * *

Sitting by the fire, on the sofa, his arm around my shoulders, my head nuzzling into his neck, no talk, no need.  
Our kisses are soft, lips and tongue barely touching.  
I drape my leg over his leg, and his hand pushes me off.

          "No, No. You're right John. Let's start over. What do they call it? Necking? That's fine. All fine. No more than that."  
And turning to face me, his hand on my jaw, those hazel eyes staring into mine," Is that good for you?' 

          "Oh yes, Sherlock. Oh yes," breathless with the wonder of him. No more punk, 'I can have it my way,' kid. Now an adult. 

* * *

We break away, and I get up, smoothing down my trousers and hiding my partial erection, "I'd like to go home. Need some time to digest all this. And to talk to Mike."  
It almost seems like he wanted to make a move toward me, to hug me but I turn to the outside door.

          "Let me get our driver to take you-" Interrupting him, "I'll get a taxi, but thanks."

* * *

Home at last, tired but happy with how the day turned out, I move towards my bedroom and spot Mike sitting in his chair, the newspaper put down on the floor.

          "John, need to talk to you."

          "What do you want to know? You have questions. About what's going on with Sherlock and me?" easing down into my armchair. 

Leaning forward the closer to see him," Yes, Mike, I've been with Sherlock. Learned some hard lessons," realizing what I said I chuckle," and I'd like to see where this leads. As far as us, we're still the same. The occasional sex and still friends. Right?"  
His head down, I suspect something,"whats wrong?"

          "You know my parents don't know I'm gay. We're business partners and our living together made it easy when the money was in short supply to start our clinic. That's what I told them. Well, all of a sudden they're pushing me to marry. That's because Dad wants grandchildren before he dies." Downcast and grave he finishes,"I can't tell them about us or my sexuality. Dad would have a heart attack. He's not well, diabetes and more."

* * *

Damn, John. You've spent so much time on your problems you've overlooked Mike and what's been happening with him!  
Looking back on the last weeks, maybe months, he has been preoccupied.

* * *

          "Shit, that's not good." Wringing his hands, his head comes up to directly eye me, "You know the nurse at the clinic, Mary. We've been dating and have talked quite openly. She knows I'm gay and our living arrangement. She's is not interested, that much, in sex. Tried it and didn't like it. But, we agreed to marry and adopt. She would like a child. And Dad probably won't mind about adoption." 

          "Okay, I get this. A hard decision for you," digesting all this information on top of all that's happened to me is too quick. My brain is not functioning. Pausing, taking in the problem of the moment, "And when will this happen?"

          "I know this is all fast and in a way I'm now glad about you and Sherlock." 

          "I'll explain about that after. First, let me hear more about you." 

          "Mom and Dad are going to meet Mary this weekend and we'll have a small wedding within a month at their church. And, I want you as my best man." 

          "Do I congratulate you? Are you going to be happy?" 

          " I will try. Heaven knows I'll try. And John, I've also promised Mary that I won't-," he stops, and suddenly he begins to cry. I crawl over to his chair, my arms around his waist. 

          "Dammit, this is not how I wanted-." 

          "Shh, I know this is not what you want, but we'll still be partners and see one another," and his head comes up, and I suspect what's coming next before he speaks. 

          "Can't. Her father is footing the bill for she and I to work together in another town further south of London."

I place my head in his lap," It's over then. We always thought we'd be separated sooner or later. It's been a great time though."  
We stay that way awhile, and I finally sit back in my chair.

* * *

          "She's a great person. We do share things together, you know."

          "I didn't even know about you two. Had no inkling. I wish you the best." He focuses on me.

          "And what about you? You'll be able to keep this flat on what you make. But your life? What is this with Sherlock?" 

          "Mike, I don't know exactly. But I can tell you that Sherlock is more worldly wise than either of us. And a genius to boot. I have to play this carefully. Not sure whether he'll hurt my heart or not."

* * *

Can't let him know the truth of what has happened.  
And, thinking about it more, Sherlock is beginning to invade my heart.  
What he did, how he did it is something I have to explore. But the fact he is willing to make the effort.  
That speaks volumes. And all this will take time. And that is what we both have.


End file.
